When Love Is Not Enough
by LadyFangs
Summary: A series of vignettes, one-shots. Friend, lover, father, mother, ally, enemy...The relationship between Lagertha and Ragnar Lothbrok is complicated.
1. The Betrayal

**Lagertha**

She knew it was over the day Bjorn told her of Ragnar's deceit. It had been coming a long time. She was now rendered useless, her body failing her. Her desire and all her efforts to hold on to her husband were to no avail. She had tried ignoring it at first—choosing to believe him when he said it was over, that it had only happened once, that he didn't love the woman, and that it wouldn't happen again. But the illusion was shattered when _she_ walked through the door. The evidence was there, and Lagertha could no longer stay in denial.

She was stunned into silence as her husband told her that such arrangements were done all over the country, and that he wanted two wives. She was humiliated.

While she had given her all to him-her heart, her body, even her soul- he had not done the same. She could feel the losses acutely. Her daughter. Her husband, and now her home and her future slipping away. It was then she knew she could no longer stay here—to pretend there was love when there was none. She had to leave, start over elsewhere. Love was a deceit of the gods. Her only comfort now was her son who chose his mother over his father. This was the end of their love.

It had been real...once.

 **Ragnar**

He loved his wife. No. He _loves_ his wife. And as she rides away into the distance, with their son, he can only stare behind them. His eyes swell with tears, and he feels as if his heart will beat until its death.

How could he have thought she would stay? Losing her had never been part of the plan.

The colors are swimming as he walks slowly back to his horse, each step heavier than the last. Until his legs give out and he falls to the Earth. His anguished wail and heavy sobs carrying far on the wind.

It is good to get this over with now. He is grateful there is no one around to hear him cry.


	2. Regrets

**Ragnar**

The birth of his children has brought him new joy. But there is sadness, too. Each touch of small fingers against his own keeps him painfully aware of another child lost to him, and dimming hope that he will see his eldest child again. When he thinks of Bjorn, he blinks back tears. The face of his first wife haunts his dreams. There is so much regret, and time had not tempered the flame. Have the gods not given him what he wanted? More sons. But they have exacted their pound of flesh, taking away from him the people he loves the most. There is hole in his heart that will not heal, and while he is grateful for the favor of the gods, he wonders whether it has been worth the cost.

 **Lagertha**

It was the best offer she had. An arrangement that had only required her to swallow her pride. It was never about what she wanted, but what had been demanded of her, that she protect her last child. And so she had agreed to the marriage. In return for protection, he would have the right to call her his wife. Earl Sigvard wanted to be great, but his cowardice prevented him from attaining any notable achievement. So he did what he viewed as the next best thing, he chose to take the wife of Ragnar Lothbrok. As he grew drunker, more resentful of his own failings, she bore the brunt of his rage. But she kept her son at bay. She could see the anger flare in Bjorn's eyes with every raised hand, each yell—and she would shake her head "no." She was biding her time. Her son was almost a man. It was coming. She was just waiting for her time.


	3. The Reunion

**The Reunion**

 **Ragnar**

He can barely believe it. He doesn't dare trust his eyes. It has been four years.

"I have heard of your troubles. I brought these warriors to help you," Lagertha says, her voice calm, her presence immediately steadying.

It has been a long time since he saw her last, and now she is even more beautiful than the image he has held in his heart. The warrior woman he once knew stands before him again. She saved his life once, on the battlefield long ago. And now she is saving him again. He wonders at what point he will be allowed to repay her.

A tall, broad young man approaches him cautiously. Ragnar's eyes light up.

"You are my son," he says, his voice raw with emotion as he wraps his arms around his boy, now a man, holding him tight in his arms.

"My Bjorn. How you've grown," he says standing back a moment to appraise his son, before grabbing him again in another strong hug.

It is a moment that he will cherish. His lost family back in his arms. It has been too long, far too long.

He steals a glance at Lagertha as he hugs Bjorn. But her face is impassive. She stands apart from him, from them. Four years is a long time. But he cannot deny he has been roused by her. Yet, there is something not quite right. When he looks at her he sees a puzzle. She is hiding something. There are more questions than answers.

This reunion, despite the circumstances, is opportunity, he decides. He watches intently, somewhat nervous as Lagertha approaches Aslaug and as the women interact. His ex-wife holds his new son, and it gives him hope.

He desires them both. And when his family is restored to their rightful place, he imagines how perfect it would be if they were all there—together. All his sons, and Lagertha, and Aslaug by his side. They are family, and family belong together.

But after, when he goes to the seer to ask a question and to confess his desire, the old man laughs in his face.

"You are a fool, Ragnar. If you think it is you who gets to choose."

He does not understand why this is so complicated. He has never been so close to having it all. He needs to speak to his son. Bjorn will tell him what he needs to know.

 **.**

 **.**

He finds his son sitting on the beach near their old farm staring into the ocean. Ragnar comes up next to him, placing a hand on his son's shoulder and squeezing, before settling down beside him. He is still amazed that his son has become a man, and he regrets that he has missed the moments in between.

"You rebuilt the house," Bjorn says looking at the structure nearby. "But, it is not our home," he says wistfully.

Ragnar smiles ruefully. "Call me a fool," he says, "but I had hoped that one day you and your mother would come back. And even if she chose not to stay with me, I wanted a place for her here," he gestures to the land around them. "Plus, I'm still a farmer," he says. "And Aslaug hates the smell of pigs."

They share a laugh before settling back into silence.

"Do you love Aslaug?" Bjorn asks suddenly looking at him. Ragnar is measured in his answer. "I care for her. She is the mother of my children."

"So is my mother," Bjorn says defensively his hands making a fist. Ragnar looks at him hard.

"Yes, so is your mother," he says slowly before turning back to study the ocean.

You haven't answered the question," Bjorn says, hurt and anger in his voice.

"Tell me," Ragnar says suddenly shifting turning to face his son directly. It catches Bjorn off guard. "Tell me what has happened to your mother. I want to know. _Now_." It comes out more menacing than he had intended.

Bjorn backs down in the face of his father's sudden rage.

"I did as you told me to do, father," he says. "You told me to protect mother, and I have! I have…tried," Bjorn's voice breaks, and Ragnar feels the muscles throughout his body suddenly tense, bracing for the worst. And as Bjorn starts to tell him the story, he shuts his eyes, and exhales deeply, fighting the urge to yell. Scream. Fight, or kill something.

He can hear his own heartbeat echoing in his ears, the sound of waves crashing ashore amplified. He is gritting his teeth, clenching and unclenching his jaw, but he says nothing as Bjorn continues, telling him of seeing bruises on his mother's face, of hearing her screams in the night.

Instead he pulls his legs up and wraps his arms around them, rocking slowly, contemplatively.

"Father, you cannot let her go back to Earl Sigvard!" Bjorn says. "He will kill her, I know it."

Ragnar turns to look at his son, and sees the pain and hurt in his eyes. He pushes aside his own feelings to embrace Bjorn in a hug, rocking them both.

"Don't worry, Bjorn," he whispers into his son's hair, his eyes bright with tears of fury. "No other man will _ever_ lay hands on your mother again."

 **.**

 **.**

It is nightfall and the rain is pouring by the time he reaches Rollo's house. Lagertha had refused his invitation to stay in his home, and he had not been surprised—it had been her home once, too.

He knocks, and is greeted by the sight of Siggy, Rollo and Lagertha all engaged in conversation around a roaring fire. They stop talking when they see him. He remembers a time when this scene would have looked much different. Everyone including their children, and their friends and their friends' children, would all have been gathered around a similar fire drinking ale and singing songs long into the night. But most of those faces are long dead now. And four years seems like memories from another lifetime. He pushes the thought away.

"I need to speak to Lagertha," he says. The three of them stand and Rollo and Siggy walk past him, exchanging looks, but making the allowance.

He shakes the rain off his cloak and goes to stand next to Lagertha by the fire. They stay like that silently for a while. She, staring into the fire, not looking at him. He takes the time to study her out of the corner of his eyes, taking in the lines of her face, the fullness of her lips, remembering the way she kissed him, angrily, hungrily, passionately.

Finally, he speaks.

"I was wondering-"

"You were wondering what I was going to do, regarding your son," she finishes for him. A breath. A pause.

"I don't know what to do," she admits. "He wants to stay here, with you."

He continues looking into the fire, rubbing his hands. But his answer is quick. Resolved. "Then you should stay. You both should stay."

"Your wife would not be happy," she snaps. It pleases him. It is a jab meant to hurt him, it means she still cares.

"I imagine not."

She turns away from him lips pursed. She is angry. He takes the time to study her. She is like a cat, ready to spring.

"I remember when you would have slapped me for something like that," he says, an edge in his voice as he moves closer to wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her against him, his chest to her back. He moves a stray hair away from her neck, letting his hand grace her face gently.

She flinches and pulls away from him. His lips curve into a frown. He will force the truth from her, if he must.

"What do you want, Ragnar?" she says tiredly. He moves quickly before she can become defensive, grabbing her by the waist and pushing her down on the bed. He pins her body with his own as he raises her dress, sliding his hands up her thigh. She pushes against him pounding his back and shoulders with her fists.

"What I want…," he growls at her, "is to understand why you would allow another man to _beat_ you, in front of _my_ son, rather than to come back to my bed!"

He knows the answer already. They are too stubborn. Too proud. He pushes his knee between her legs and barely misses a direct hit to his groin. He begins to undo his pants, while trying to block the blows. One fist glances his chin.

"I didn't know you cared," she says twisting against him.

He kisses her hard and long, muffling the curses that pour from her mouth. This is how they settle arguments. It has always been the foreplay to reconciliation. He moves to her neck, his tongue flicking on the spot right under her ear that he knows makes her wet. He can sense the change, as her anger subsides and something more urgent rises to the surface. A moan escapes as she tries to arch away from him, but tonight, he will not let her go. They have things that need to be settled. And this is the only way they know how to do it.

The embers that have been smoldering since her arrival have ignited. And Ragnar is determined.

She allows him to remove the dress, and he takes off his shirt before beginning to work on her breasts, she arches again, this time into his touch as he slips one finger between her wet folds. The second one makes her tense, and she cries out as he pushes his way in, then out. And back in, building a rhythm as he places a trail of kisses down her stomach, until his lips are where his hands have been. She tugs at his hair and grabs his ears as he pushes her legs further apart to go deeper inside her with his tongue. Lagertha twists under his grip but she will not escape from this. He turns to kiss the inside of her thighs, and there he sees a faint bruise. His blood is hot, and he rises up against her, grabbing her hands and pinning them above her head.

"I will not be gentle," he tells her, deadly serious.

"I don't want you to be," her whispered acquiescence gives him clearance, and he enters her hard as she screams in his ear.

It is so tight, tighter than he can remember and wet. He pulls out, and thrusts in her again. And again. And again. Her cries only urge him forward, and soon, her moans are more pleasure than pain as he finds her deep spot, and, releasing her arms, put all his energies there.

There is a searing pain down his back and he groans aloud as her fingernails break the skin on his back ,her hands coming to grip his ass to urge him deeper. He is purging Sigvard from her body with each push, each kiss, each bite. He knows he is the only man who can make her moan like this, and he knows from the way it squeezes his manhood, that he was also the last man that made her _feel_ like this.

The sounds they make are obscene. Their words, dirty. She comes for him hard, her head back, lips parted, and he does the same for her, emptying everything into her, shouting her name and cursing Sigvard to the heavens.

He knows there will be marks on her body. Some she will be able to hide well, others, she won't. And he wants Sigvard to see. He leaves his threat on his ex-wife's skin, and as they come down, she finally tells him the truth. She tells him that Sigvard has sent spies to Kattegat, she has seen them. And she must, despite his intense displeasure, return to Hedeby. She rolls on top of him, straddling his waist, and begins to rock her hips against him, making him stir again. Lagertha's will has always been stronger than his own, and in this area too, she is superior. He moans as he sinks back into her, still wet with his own seed. She rides him long and slow and steady, keeping him just on the edge of the abyss as she makes him swear, makes him _promise_ , that he will not come after her when she leaves.

She tells him she has a plan, but she won't tell him what it is. She kisses him, and switches direction with her hips, squeezing him hard between her thighs he cries out yes, as she milks him, and he as he again empties himself inside her.

Yes, she says, she needs his help. But whatever happens in the next day, he must not go after her.

Even now, she still has that power over him.

 **Siggy**

She can tell that Ragnar is still in love with Lagertha. And if it wasn't clear already, it certainly is now to anyone still awake and within a stone's throw of their house. She and Rollo sit outside in the rain, trying to drown out the sounds of what's happening inside, likely on their bed.

She will certainly switch out the dressings when Ragnar leaves, _if_ Ragnar leaves. Finally, mercifully, there is nothing but the sound of thunder. She moves to go back inside, but Rollo's hand on her arm stops her.

"They're not done yet," he says.

"How do you know?" She whispers.

He pulls her down on his lap, her legs straddling his. She can feel him through his pants.

Because, he says, kissing her neck. If that were you and I, I wouldn't be quick to leave either.

It's the best Rollo has ever given her, and she kisses him gently as they make love outside in the rain, Thor hammering his approval in the sky.

When they stop to rest she starts to speak again.

"Lagertha will leave him again," she says.

"How do you know?" Rollo is genuinely surprised. She can tell he too, thought it was simple. That is the problem with men.

"She is a woman scorned, Rollo," Siggy explains to her lover. "She has lost too much. Her daughter, her home. Her husband. And no matter how much Ragnar loves her, and she loves him, they can never, never go back. The best they can hope for are moments like these."

Rollo looks at her, understanding.

"It must be like torture for them," he says, before leaning in to kiss her.


	4. The Reunion Part 2

**Reunion, part 2**

 **Aslaug**

It is as if a heavy weight has been lifted from her shoulders when Lagertha tells them she is leaving. A part of Aslaug had wanted her to stay, but the other part, had desperately hoped she would go.

She is grateful for help, and she marvels at the spirit of a woman who would step in to save her ex-husband's wife, and children. Aslaug knows she would not have done the same. Still, she is not dumb enough to not recognize a threat when she sees one. She is pregnant now and she knows this child one will be her last for Ragnar. And what then? If Lagertha stays, Ragnar will certainly find his way to her bed, though by looking at the two of them, she thinks he has done so already. He has never looked at her the way he does Lagertha, and there is no mistaking he still loves his ex-wife.

Lagertha is revered in their village. The girls worship her like Freyja, and men, young and old openly lust after her.

But it was Aslaug who bore Ragnar's grief when Lagertha left him, hiding the ale and tending his scars from reckless behavior. It got easier when the children came, and he had something to distract him from his misery, but even the children have not been enough to hold his attention. He has been good to her, and through their children they share a bond, but in her heart she knows it was not love that brought them together. Nor love that keeps them here.

She admires Lagertha's spirit, and when she says "thank you" to the shield-maiden she is sincere. Lagertha could have taken Ragnar back, but she didn't, and for that, Aslaug is grateful.

 **Lagertha**

The journey back to Hedby takes three days. And while the pain between her legs has subsided, the marks that Ragnar gave her have not. She knows that Sigvard will know. And she is prepared for what he will do.

This cycle will soon end. But she must wait until he draws first blood.

And sure enough, when Sigvard sees the bruises on her body, and the marks he knows are not his, he attacks.

She fights back, but not too much, weathering the blows.

Her bruised face make everyone at the table uncomfortable. She is on display for all to see.

And when he slips again and tries to humiliate her, she takes her revenge, stabbing Sigvard and claiming his eye, and with it, his earldom.

 **.**

 **.**

When she hears Ragnar is searching for an ally, she hesitates. She is a new earl, and unsure of whether her people will follow her into battle for the sake of her ex-husband. But it is in the interest of Hedeby to ally itself with Kattegat—for the mutual protection of their territories.

But the families of Hedeby support her, and she is relieved. This will be the third time she saves Ragnar Lothbrok, and she cannot help but laugh out loud. She hopes the gods are having fun, because she feels like this is happening too many times.

She hides in the trees and watches him approach from a distance. Ragnar scans her men searching for "Earl Ingstad."

Lagertha is smirking as she slowly moves from behind the cover, watching his reaction with growing glee. It is funny, this situation they're in now. She is aware of how she looks, what she wants to convey. And Ragnar's face has always been so expressive that it's clear what he is thinking now.

Her smile grows a little at the range of emotions that flick across his features in quick succession: shock, amazement, humor, and in his eyes something else, hunger. She licks her lips absently, as he guides his horse in slow circles around, her sizing her up.

"So, you are truly an Earl."

"Yes, we are equal. I'm sure this is difficult for you." She meets his gaze with her own, and they are like two wild animals sizing each other up, each trying to decide if the other is prey or predator.

"It is not difficult at all."

He smirks, giving her the look that makes her feel like he's undressing her with his eyes; the tension that crackles around them is unmistakably sexual. He is playing a game, one he believes he is winning. But she too has played this game before, and she knows exactly how it will unfold. She always ends up on top.

Her men are exchanging uncomfortable glances, their eyes shifting between their Earl and Earl Ragnar. They know something is happening, but don't know what. Ragnar's men exchange amused looks. They too know something is happening, and they're placing bets on which one will cave first.

"So you will accept me as an ally?" She asks him, waiting.

"It depends," he is still circling, still appraising. She refuses to move.

"I've been betrayed by an earl before. So if you are truly an earl, my answer is no. But..." she catches the gleam in his eye, "if you are still the Lagertha I know, my answer is yes."

It is an answer and a dare. She merely smiles.

"Your wife is pregnant, Earl Ragnar." She says. He shoots her a dirty grin, but she is resolved. There is much to do to prepare for England. And it has been a long time since she has picked up a sword.


	5. Wessex II

**Wessex II**

 **Ragnar**

King Horik has been testing his ranks, searching for weaknesses within them. It is Floki who confirms Ragnar's suspicions. He has grown too powerful for the King to not view him as anything other than a threat. But he had tried to avoid it coming to that.

Now Horik has nearly gotten them all killed, and this was never a part of the plan. Ragnar is angry, but he cannot show it. Horik is still king, his king. Their dead are piling up, and yet again he finds himself sending his closest friends, now far fewer, to Valhalla. He sees in Horik a failed leader, a blind man who cannot see more that the glory of battle. Ragnar is fighting for the future of his people all Horik sees is today.

But taking down a king is no small matter. And he cannot do it alone.

He reaches out to the only people he can trust. Bjorn. Lagertha. They whisper through the night, outlining, strategizing. He is strengthened by them—Lagertha and Bjorn—each weighing their roles, their options. Finally, they settle on a plan. It will take time, and patience, but it will be worth it in the end. And Ragnar is used to waiting.

 **.**

 **Bjorn**

He is awakened from his sleep by the sound of rustling, and muffled voices. His head is groggy and at first he believes his is dreaming. But the sounds continue, and he slowly comes to the realization that this is no dream.

He opens one eye to see what is causing the sounds, and instantly shuts them. It was not what he had expected, and there's an intense urge to vomit. He swallows hard instead.

Bjorn knows how children are made. He just never thought he'd be a witness to how _he_ was made. At least, not so damned close.

Must they do this, now? At this moment? He supposes though, that they haven't gotten very many opportunities, and though it makes him cringe, he keeps silent and still to not disturb them, though he doubts very much that anything short of full blown war would disturb them now.

His father kisses his mother's face, while the blankets continue to move, and the rustling and muffled moans grow deeper, more urgent.

They will be finished soon.

Their breathing is harsh, ragged, and while they are trying to stay quiet, they are failing quite spectacularly at doing so.

There are grunts (his father) and whimpers (his mother) as they climax, and then…heavy breathing as they come back down from wherever they have been.

Finally, he can get some sleep. As he drifts back off, he catches a whisper that hangs there, floating.

"I love you." His father.

"I know." His mother.

Bjorn smiles. He knows, too.

.

 **Ragnar and Lagertha**

It had just…happened. They had lost many warriors in the ambush, and in that group of dead men and women were friends. It seems as they keep on living, everyone around them dies.

And now Rollo, on the brink of it.

Bjorn has fallen asleep while the two of them stay up and continue talking of other things, and it is almost like reconnecting with a long lost friend. This is the first time they have had the chance to just sit, and talk, and be together. It has been a long time since either has had opportunity to speak freely.

So when she asks about his newborn son, he tells her the truth. There are tears in his eyes, and she rests her hand on his.

"The gods will watch over him, Ragnar." She says.

He pulls her close to him, her back against his chest, and they stay like that, holding on to each other listening, reflecting.

"Do you really think we can build a farm here, Ragnar?" There is hope in her voice. It mirrors his own.

"You've seen the land," he says. "What do you think?"

"I think," she says turning to face him, "that it will never be as good as our farm."

It brings back memories, painful, but warming at the same time. They were happy then. He rocks her gently as they look at their sleeping son. Bjorn snorts in his sleep and rolls over.

They laugh quietly.

This is what they are and have always been and will always be. Blood is thicker than water, and while the bonds between them have been bent, they are forged in blood, and will never be broken. They are more than friends. More than lovers, more than an ex-husband, and ex-wife.

"You did well in raising our son," Ragnar says, leaning down and kissing her, placing one hand over her belly. But it is never ends at just a kiss. Love is just another front on their battlefield.

 **.**

 **.**

They depart from England with the knowledge they will soon return.

 _ ***Author's Note: Thank you all for reading. Please remember to tip your bartender. Reviews are the only way ff writers are paid.***_


	6. Back to Wessex

**Wessex III**

 **Aslaug**

The birth of their son had been hard. It has taken its toll on them. Ragnar is angry with her, questioning her decision, but she finds that she cannot care. She will not apologize for keeping their son alive. Though his legs are useless, she knows she has done the right thing.

Aslaug stands on the shore cradling Ivar in her arms as she watches the ships depart again for Wessex. Ragnar is king now. But it is Lagertha, not her, by his side.

It was Lagertha who got the first strike at Horik. It was Lagertha who helped slay the former king's troops, and it was Lagertha who killed his queen.

But yet it is _Aslaug_ who sits on the throne. **Not** Lagertha.

She looks to her husband on the docks. He is far too close to his ex-wife. The way they lean into each other is familiar and intimate, and she knows without a doubt, that they have been with each other. She also knows it is not the first time, nor will it be the last. She does not hear what Ragnar has said but her eyes tell her all she needs to know. The way he leans into Lagertha's neck and whispers in her ear, the way the smile crosses Lagertha's face, as she laughs. He lingers too long beside his _ex_ -wife. And they ride together in the same boat with their son.

They will be gone several months, and she doesn't deny that it hurts more now that she knows Ragnar does not love her.

She had deluded herself into thinking that maybe, if she gave him sons, that his lust would be replaced by love. But he has told her the truth now. And it has crushed her soul.

So when a stranger calls from faraway lands, she is entranced. He holds Ivar in a way Ragnar never would, cradling her son as if he were of his own blood.

Harbard is a good man, a different man. He is not Ragnar Lothbrok. Ragnar only loves himself, his children and his ex-wife. She has just been a tool. A vessel, and her husband has made it clear that she is no longer needed.

Maybe Ragnar would have loved her if she would have been strong enough to leave him as Lagertha did. But she is not Lagertha, and she has suffered his indiscretions and indignities in near silence. She will do so no longer.

Harbard touches her in ways Ragnar never did. He makes love to her, he sets her free.

.

 **Lagertha**

She is pleased to be free of Hedeby. She may be an earl, but she is also a shield-maiden and adventure calls to her.

And now, she is farming in new lands. The feel of the new blade, the coolness of the earth between her fingers, is intoxicating. Even the air is different. It almost feels like it could be home. **Almost.**

Wessex has offered her something else she has not had in a long time. Fun. She finds herself laughing, real laughter. Perhaps the attentions of a King have something to do with her good mood as well?

She is finding King Ecbert's flirtations too delightful to ignore. And why should she? She is unmarried and a free woman. And he is unmarried as well. There are no complications here. It is simple. She has too many responsibilities at home, but here there are none. She is unencumbered by titles. They have no restrictions, no bounds, an arrangement that she finds satisfying. It is a temporary thing.

She has enjoyed the company, and the man, and the sex. But that's all it is.

So when he asks her to stay she tells him no. And she also tells him that she does not trust him. But that doesn't mean it has to end just yet.

"Tell me more about Paris," she asks the king.

 **.**

 **Ragnar**

He is a man, and he knows other men. He is not blind to Ecbert's infatuation with his ex-wife, most men are.

This does not mean he approves. And when he returns from fighting another man's war, he knows that Ecbert has bedded Lagertha.

There is an intimacy between them he does not like. And she's wearing a new necklace that he just wants to rip off.

"It seems you two got on well," he says sipping from his cup as he comes to stand alongside Lagertha. Her hair has not quite covered the red mark on her neck. The hall is filled with people and music, everyone joyful in the wake of victory.

"It's working. We've planted the first crop, and King Ecbert gave us a new plow and has assured us of his protection," she says, a soft smile playing at her lips.

"And you believed him."

"Yes, for the sake of all of us."

"So, you sacrificed yourself for the common good," there is an edge to his voice. She responds in kind.

"As did you, Ragnar."

"I'm hungry," He retorts. He will not allow her to best him. Not this time.

He is jealous.

 **.**

 **.**

They sit together yet apart from the crowd, watching the party, each man growing more drunk. One more so than the other.

They are too alike, and now they have _too_ much in common.

"You and I, we understand each other,"Ecbert says. "That is why we are allies, and will remain so."

Ragnar does not answer that. Instead he poses a question.

"Do you think you are a good man?" He asks, waiting for the reply.

"Yes, I think so," Ecbert says. Are you…a good man?

"Yes, I think so."

They are lying and each of them knows it.

The music plays as Ragnar watches Lagertha dance, following the sway of her hips, those lovely hips, imaging her riding a man that his not him.

"Are you corrupt?" He asks Ecbert, softly.

A pause. A breath.

"Oh yes…are you?" Ecbert says. They are watching the same woman.

Lagertha smiles, her face glowing as she dances and shares a casual kiss with Queen Kwethrith. Ragnar knows what that was about.

"Mmm hmmm," he acknowledges, before sliding off the chair and walking down into the crowd. He cuts in on Lagertha and Kwinthrith, and takes his ex-wife behind a wall.

Where he rips off the damned necklace, and picks her up.

She's drunk, but like instinct her legs wrap around his waist, and he takes the time to pleasure her with his hands.

In the midst of this, there's someone watching.

Ecbert.

Ragnar turns and looks at the king a smile on his face and malice in his eyes. It's a clear message.

 _Mine._

Followed by a threat.

 _I win._

And it is true, what they said to each other. Ragnar is corrupted. He is angry, and he is jealous. He is selfish, and he is proud. He has always taken what he wants, and in this way, he sees himself in Ecbert. They are both deeply flawed men, and they understand each other. Ragnar is looking forward to the day he kills him.


	7. After England

**After England**

 **Aslaug**

She is nervous as she sees the boats approaching. It is raining, a bad sign of bad things to come, she is sure.

Ragnar is looking at her strangely. He is angry with her—that their children nearly died. But she is angry too. He spurns her offering of sex as if she is some unwashed, used whore.

And so she tells him. She tells him that yes, Harbard was good. Great in fact. Better than she could have dreamed. And far, far superior to him

And while she is sorry Siggy has died for it, given what Ragnar has done to her, he really has no right to complain. After all, what's the difference between what she did with Harbard, and what he did to Lagertha?

.

 **Lagertha**

She has gone from spurned wife, to abused wife, to an earl and now…now, she has no home. Hedeby is gone. Stolen from her by yet another man, a man she trusted. Kalf, has usurped her. Rollo was right. A man's ambitions will always get in the way of his heart. Ragnar had taught her that.

How could she have not seen this coming? Kalf had been so loyal, so gentle, so kind. She had come to like him, and while she could not bring herself to say she loved him, there had been—at least she thought—something there.

Betrayal.

Kalf may not have had her love, but he did at least have her trust, and the deceit feels almost as bitter as heartbreak. **Almost**. That can't happen twice.

And now Ragnar has chosen to align himself with usurper, and he has used her, again. She knows that this is not about his desire to go to Paris. It is about paying her back for Wessex. He is jealous. She knows her ex-husband too well.

Ragnar is angry with her for sleeping with Ecbert. But he has no right to pass judgement on what she does. They are not married—have not been for more than 10 years now. She owes him nothing, and he has no right to demand anything other than her loyalty. Her body does not belong to him, and he deserves to be reminded of that.

Ragnar Lothbrok is still the same selfish bastard he was when he slept with Aslaug, impregnated her, and brought her into their home. She has never forgotten that. She never will.

It seems men have always taken from her. First her heart, then her body and now, her earldom. She is enraged, but she is not powerless.

This time it is not Ragnar, but Bjorn who begs her to stay. She is so angry at her ex-husband, but she cannot deny her son. She will stay here for the winter. They will leave for Paris in the Spring.

She finds out soon enough that staying, at least a little while, is worth it. She gets to hold her granddaughter in her arms.

Grandparents. She is now old enough to see her child have a child. When the gods give, they also take away and it is bittersweet.

But there is something very wrong. She feels there is a storm coming.

.

 **Ragnar**

Women. He does not know which he hates more in this moment, his ex-wife or his current one.

He is tired of the fighting. So he makes Kalf a deal. Join him in Paris, or Ragnar will take his lands and leave him to deal with Lagertha, alone. It is as much a threat as a promise.

All he has ever demanded from the people he considers family is loyalty. But it is clear to him Aslaug has none. All he has asked of her is to keep his children safe, and she couldn't even do that. Two of his sons nearly died because his stupid wife couldn't keep her legs shut.

Alsaug yells and screams at him, she slaps him but it does not hurt. He feels nothing for her but disgust. And he tells her that he does not care if she fucked Harbard in front of his sons, at least then they would have been safe.

It is unforgiveable.

He is raging and he is enraged.

It is like an anchor has been cut loose, and he is drifting further and further down river into the abyss. Floki is whispering in his ear things he does not want to hear, about his wife, and about his friend. And Athelstan, his dear friend Athelstan is now dead, murdered by Floki, whom he thought he could trust. And Lagertha…has slept with his enemy.

He wonders briefly if he should tell her that the settlement is gone, to let it sink in that she sacrificed herself for nothing so that he can laugh in her face. She has hurt him, and he wants to hurt her too. But he decides against it and chooses to focus on Paris.

There is now no one that he can talk to. No one who can guide him, counsel him. No one who can protect him from himself.

He is forever changed. He has been betrayed by those closest to him. Loyalty. It is all he has ever demanded.

.

 **Aslaug and Lagertha**

She has left the children at home with their father. He does not bother to ask where she is going, and she doesn't bother to tell him. This is how things are now, and she is glad for it. At least they are no longer pretending.

The trip up the mountain takes about an hour, and she's not used to riding a horse. By the time she arrives, she's sore, and exhausted. But she's made it. The house is well built, with thick walls and slender vines circling the outside. There's a small garden with a variety of vegetables, and a barn with goats and sheep. A baby goat comes up to the fence, and she reaches out her hand, allowing it to lick her. The tongue tickles and despite herself, she laughs. Her laughter alerts the woman inside that there is a visitor.

Lagertha opens the door and the two women see each other. Aslaug stands outside quietly, waiting.

"Would you like to come in?" Lagertha asks.

She accepts. When she steps inside she is amazed at the sparcity of the house. Somehow she had expected Lagertha to have…more?

"Please, have a seat," Lagertha says, moving off to the hearth.

"Would you like some tea, princess?"

"Yes, thank you."

Aslaug removes her shawl and her hood. And when Lagertha turns around to face her, she gasps.

The right side of Aslaug's face is bruised—an angry red, and turning purple. The hand print is still there, visible.

The women look at each other, and Aslaug can tell that Lagertha is trying to process her face…to put the pieces together. She had thought she would feel victorious. As if she had won a great battle by finally besting her foe. She lets her face speak for itself. Aslaug had wanted Lagertha to see what Ragnar had to her. She had wanted to shatter whatever remained between the two of them into pieces. And she knows that she has done that. But it doesn't feel as good as she had hoped. And the victory, if she can call it that, is bitter.

She had wanted to throw this in Lagertha's face. But now that she has done it, she feels…hollow. Aslaug is a strong woman. Lagertha is too. But when she sees the single tear hovering dangerously in Lagertha's eyes, her own begin to fall.

And it is the woman that she has grown to hate, who comes to comfort her.

Aslaug cries in Lagertha's arms.

And Lagertha allows it.

And she allows it because she understands it.

Her own words come back to her in that moment, said between the two of them a year ago, on the beach. She remembers how Aslaug had confronted her about sleeping with Ragnar, and how she had not denied it. And she remembers what she told Aslaug at the time. That yes, she did love him, no matter what man, or monster he may be.

As she holds the princess, she wonders about the truth of her own words. If it wasn't over before, it is certainly over now. She may always love Ragnar Lothbrok. No, she will always love Ragnar Lothbrok. But she also knows that love is not enough.


	8. An Unwelcome Return

**An Unwelcome Return**

The journey back to Kattegat is a difficult one. Lagertha does not know whether Ragnar will live. She and Bjorn take turns watching over him.

They have moved to the back of the boat, and the rest of the men have given their family space. The victory in Paris has been great, but all of them have paid a great cost.

Ragnar's head is nestled in her lap.

The shock of him being alive was quickly eclipsed by a searing anger that has held her in its grip and has not let go. Though she is nursing him, she has never felt so strong a desire to kill him.

She remembers him walking out through the gates they sent him through in a coffin, and she remembers the way he looked at her, pleading with her for forgiveness as he lay slumped in Bjorn's arms. Lagertha had walked forward. There was no direction but forward.

They have been angry with one another before. But not even the worst fights has ever made her feel like this. She feels violated.

When Ragnar wakes it is not Bjorn, but Lagertha who hovers above him. He blinks, wincing against the sun, and moves to speak, but no words come out.

"I wonder if you ever loved me, as you have claimed," she says, staring down at him. "What kind of man claims to love a woman, but does everything in his power to show otherwise?"

She doesn't allow him to answer. "I will tell you what kind of man," she leans down, stroking his head gently, but every word sharp like a dagger to his heart. Her voice is low, and only he can hear.

"A cowardly man. A foolish man. A prideful man. A _jealous_ man. A _weak_ man. Is that the kind of man you are, Ragnar Lothbrok?"

He shakes his head.

"You violated me." There are tears in her eyes, and her face begins to swim in front of him.

"I hate you! You do not _deserve_ to die." He knows her words are true. His suffering has only just begun.

Lagertha strokes his face gently with the back of her hand, contemplating. The boat rocks slowly on the waves.

He is the father of her son, a son that has made them both proud. But he is also the man who has brought her the worst hurt she has ever known. Earl Sigvard may have battered her body, but Ragnar Lothbrok has abused her soul. At least with Sigvard she'd had a fighting chance.

They are true equals now. Equals in their misery.

"You are looking old," she says, her fingers tracing the circles under his eyes.

"But you still look so young," Ragnar rasps with as much of his strength that he can gather.

Bjorn is hovering anxiously and Lagertha beckons him closer. He has always had an expressive face, and her son cannot hide his the worry now. He is not ready to let his father go. His eyes dart from his father, to her, and back. Questioning.

"Do not worry for me, Bjorn."

"I can't help it mother. I worry that if father leaves, so will you."

It touches her. "Why do you think that?"

"Because you are bound to each other. Where father goes you have always followed. So why would you not leave me to go with him to Valhalla now?"

Ragnar has fallen asleep again as the boat continues to rock side to side.

"Ragnar may be done," she concedes looking past him and toward the current Earl of Hedeby, Kalf, sitting in the front of the boat. "But I am just getting started."

 **.**

 **Kalf**

He rides near the front of the boat, stealing looks at the three people in the back. He longs to be with Lagertha. He hopes that in the field of battle he has shown her that he is worthy of her. He imagines it is him who his near death, and she who is nursing him. It would be easier, he thinks, if Ragnar were to die. The competition for Lagertha's heart would be no contest.

But Ragnar is a great man. And Lagertha is a great woman. Kalf wants to be a great man and he needs such a woman by his side. He is resolved to win her heart. He will give her back half the earldom. They will rule together. He knows this is what she desires, and she will love him for it.

 **.**

 **Aslaug**

Her husband is near death, and yet, she is not worried. In fact, she is almost…pleased. Bjorn and the men carry Ragnar's body into the house as Lagertha (always Lagertha) begins to follow, but she steps in the way.

"Please," she says laying a hand on the arm of Ragnar's ex-wife. "Let me tend him. He is my husband. My responsibility."

"Of course he is, Queen Aslaug," Lagertha says in a way that makes Aslaug look at her a long moment. They meet eyes, and Lagertha smiles and walks away.

Well, finally. It has only taken 15 years. There are no happy endings. She does not care what happened between Ragnar and Lagertha in Paris. She knows whatever bond has kept them together all this time has been broken apart. Lagertha has always been Ragnar's weakness and his strength. Now, she has the power over him.

Aslaug smiles. The seer has already told her. One day a woman will rule Kattegat.

.

 **Ragnar**

He has not died, though now, more than ever, he wishes for it. Athelstan has left him. His son has left him. Lagertha has left him- for good this time, and he knows that she will never come back to him. He has ruined that.

He and Aslaug exist in a place of mutually assured destruction, and they have called a truce, for the sake of their children. Ragnar believes she is simply counting time until his death.

Now, more than ever, he misses Athelstan. The meek monk turned into a man with a moral standing that Ragnar wishes he had. It is still upsetting that Athelstan is gone. And speaking of Athelstan, there is the matter of Floki. The time for reckoning is coming.

Ragnar moves to rise from the bath, but yet another pain shoots through his body.

Still, not quite well. The winter will be long, but in the Spring they will head back to Paris. He will finish what he has started. And he is sure Rollo, his brother, will be waiting.

Most of his time is now spent indoors where he is left to battle with the demons in his mind. There is no one here now who can keep them at bay, and he gets caught up in thinking, re-thinking every action, every motive, every reaction, every circumstance that has brought him to this point. The great King Ragnar, loved by many, loved by none.

The girl catches his eye.

She is different. And she could be what he needs—a distraction from his troubled mind. When he takes the first bite of her medicine, there is a rush of clarity. This is how it begins, he thinks. The beginning of the end. Perhaps he will lose himself for a while.

Yidu's medicine keep his demons away. He is home again, on their farm, Lagertha is beside him once again. And a small Bjorn. His daughter Gyda.

He makes love to Lagertha in his dreams. Over, and over again. His wife. His farm. Bjorn and their daughter, Gyda. Oh how he loved his daughter!

Ragnar dreams that perhaps, as a woman, Gyda looks like her mother and fights like her too. He imagines her tall and graceful, all slender limbs with fire in her eyes and in her heart. He imagines Gyda slaying men like dragons until the day that one man proves himself worthy to claim her heart.

He sees his daughter's wedding, and children—so many children! But when he comes down from his high he realizes it was all an illusion. And is like a cut to his side.

The medicine brings him comfort. It takes away his pain. So he takes more, and more. And he finds he cannot stop.

Now he is in a new hell, imprisoned by his urges for a fix by a woman he doesn't not even know. But he must have his medicine.

 **.**

 **Lagertha**

She has weathered the winter storms in Hedeby, surrounded by the warmth of a man's devotion. She is…happy. And it is strange, and wonderful, and frightening all at the same time. Kalf has kept his promise to her, he has slain their enemies for her, and together they rule.

It is the kind of relationship that she has always dreamed about—one based on the joining of equals. Kalf has been loyal, and he has been kind, and it is almost painful in that it feels so very, very good.

She smiles. She laughs, and at night they make love.

He tells her how he loves her, how much he has always loved her, and desired her. And he tells her that everything he has done, has been in an effort to prove himself worthy of her.

"Even stealing my earldom?" she asks one night as she plays with the hairs on his chest.

"I was a poor man. I had nothing to offer you. I had done nothing significant in my life," he tells her earnestly. "If I had married you then, Lagertha, I would have brought you down. I was your inferior, I would have made you look weak. And you would have lost your earldom a lot sooner than you did. Believe me Lagertha," he says rolling over to look at her, "everything I did, I did out of love for you."

She kisses him.

"It is cold outside," she says. Kalf shifts to come lay on top of her. And slowly, so achingly slowly, he begins to move. It is lovely, exquisite. It so magnificent she could cry.

Kalf is like an anchor in the ocean, soothing and tending to the emotional scars on her heart. The ice is melting and they are running out of reasons to stay inside, in bed and in each other.

Preparations begin as the people begin to talk of Paris. During the day they stroll the compound together, making plans to set sail again for Paris.

She trains harder, pushing herself, becoming stronger for the fight she knows lies ahead.

Kalf is her sparring partner, and together they joust and wrestle, and strike and jab. And when she knicks him across the cheek, she smiles. The victor, drawing first blood.

But soon, she begins to feel the familiar waves of sickness in the mornings. And it's accompanied by a sinking feeling in her heart. She must tell him.

And when she does, he is overjoyed.

"Marry me," he says, and she agrees.

Their wedding day is near perfect. There are no clouds in the sky. And when he comes to her tent, she sees the love in his eyes. He draws closer to her and she smiles, a genuine smile, for he has made her so very, very happy.

But unhappiness is more common than happiness. And who ever told them she should be happy?

Kalf moves to kiss her and she closes her eyes in anticipation, and when his lips touch hers so sweetly she knows it is time.

So with a heavy heart, Lagertha allows the knife to slide down her harm, into her hand, and into Kalf's stomach.

He looks at her with so much agony, and it is a shame, really that it had to be this way.

"You stole my lands. You tried to kill my son. But you have kept your promise to me, and now I keep mine to you."

He is heavy, and she accompanies him to the ground, gently laying his head down and sweeping her hands over his face to close his eyes.

All of these months of preparation have not been wasted.

Lagertha walks out of the tent, surrounded by her attendants with shields. She is bloody, and she is scarred. But she has survived.

Her warriors have proven loyal, and they will be reward. Soon they will depart for Paris, with Earl Ingstad once again leading them on.

 **.**

 **.**

She is greeted in Kattegat by the open arms of her son.

Oh, how Bjorn has changed. She smiles, and embraces him again. There is a worldliness about him a newfound sense of self. He stands taller now, sterner. He is a man now. "Mother," he says, "I am pleased you are here. Where is Earl Kalf?" she looks her son in the eye and her smile fades.

"Kalf is dead. And Earl Ingstad has been restored." He looks at her a moment, and nods in understanding.

"Come, let me take you to father," he says wrapping a protective arm across her back and guiding her through the city to the great hall where the raiding party has assembled.

There is a cheer as she enters and just as they have always done, she is surrounded by young women and little girls excited to see the great shield-maiden Lagertha, back in Kattegat once again.

She pays her respects to Aslaug, but Ragnar is not there. The hall is alive with the talk of men and laughter but she does not feel like taking part in it.

Lagertha smiles and nods, offering hugs and handshakes as she makes her way through the crowd and toward a far wall, slipping into the shadows to watch the scene. It is hard to be in this place, this hall of memories. Her home—her former home.

She feels an arm snake around her waist pulling her back against a firm body. She knows exactly who it is and does not move. Ragnar's breath is hot on her neck as his hand trails down her sides and across her stomach, where he stops, keeping them there.

"Earl Ingstad," he says, his voice rough.

"Yes, King Ragnar. Earl Ingstad."

He utters a small laugh and squeezes her against him, before slowly tracing a circle around her stomach. He is searching, feeling. She stops breathing, as he keeps his hands there.

 _He knows._


	9. Paris II

**Paris II**

 **Ragnar**

He does not know what this "medicine" is but he is finding that he cannot function without it.

They have reached the shores of Frankia and made camp. News of their arrival will soon reach Paris.

He has spent the journey watching Lagertha, trying to determine what is in her mind. She has not spoken two words to him. But when he first saw her in Kattegat, he knew. And now he wants to know why.

Ragnar finds her sitting by herself near the woods,sharpening an axe. He goes to sit beside her, and he does not waste his words.

"Help me understand why you are here fighting, instead of trying to keep your baby safe." She looks at him silently and keeps at the axe. He moves closer, and tries again.

"You've never spoken to me about Kalf's death. It must have broken your heart."

"Of course it didn't," she says to him, expressionless. "My heart was broken a long time ago." It's a jab.

The scrape of rock on metal is beginning to grate on his nerves. He switches tactics.

"I still don't understand why you're willing to risk your baby's life in battle?" It comes out protective. Territorial. And this _does_ get a response.

"Who are you to talk? I'm not your _wife_." It is the end of the conversation. A slap in the face. But she has given him confirmation of what he already knows to be true.

.

.

Later, he stares off the side of the boat toward the beach. He blinks. And does not believe what he is seeing. Lagertha beckons him from shore. Her hair is long and braided, her dress simple, and plain. His children are with her. Athelstan is there. Ragnar starts to reach out toward them, wanting nothing more than to join them. And be a family again.

He blinks. But when he looks again, they are gone.

.

.

He is reminded of how he railed at Bjorn for allowing Porunn to fight alongside them in Wessex. His son's first wife was nearly killed. He had slapped Bjorn and chided him for his foolishness. A man must protect his wife and his children. It does not escape Ragnar the irony of the situation now that the roles are reversed.

They have strategized. Planned. They will take boats on the river, and attack from the shore. Rollo will not see it coming. He is ready for his revenge.

Lagertha volunteers to lead the ground party, and he moves to object but her cold stare silences him. It is agreed that she will lead the group.

He forces his hands to stop trembling and approaches her, wrapping his arms around her and laying a hand on her stomach. For a moment, she relaxes into his embrace, and the feel of her softness, her warmth, emboldens him. He can feel her stomach is firm, and becoming round, and Ragnar remembers how he has always loved the way she is when she is with child. He presses against her back, letting her feel his desire.

"Forgive me for caring, but you shouldn't fight tomorrow," he whispers to her. She allows him a moment of holding before pulling away and turning to face him.

"Let me _explain_ something to you," she says.

"A long time ago, the seer told me I would never have another child. If he's right, then it doesn't matter what I do."

The seer. Always the seer. His jaw twitches angrily.

"Well then," he says, hurt. "You're certainly doing everything in your power to prove the seer right." he reaches again for her belly but she swats his hand away. She is studying his face, eyebrows furrowed, but she does not say anything, and leaves him standing there alone.

He is angry, and looks for something to throw—tossing the oranges on the table to the ground. That child growing in her womb should have been _his_.

 **.**

 **Lagertha**

She has followed Ragnar back to Paris as agreed. She has kept her sworn word that they are allies. But she is beginning to feel betrayed. He has led them intro crippling defeat after defeat. Nearly a third of their ships are gone. So many warriors dead and their camp, destroyed.

She is having to bury good warriors, women and men. And it is all Ragnar's fault. He is acting strangely, erratically. He is trying to get close to her at one moment, and the next, he is screaming at his slave for "medicine".

What is this "medicine" he keeps calling for? Ragnar is like a caged wild animal backed into a corner. She has watched him as he paces in his tent, muttering to himself, gesturing wildly. It is unnerving, and it makes her pity him.

Lagertha hears King Horik speak of the gods deserting them, and she jumps to Ragnar's defense. But it is not their fault. They have simply spoken aloud what she, and everyone else is thinking.

This loss has weakened him as a leader and it has harmed the name Lothbrok, a name she still carries, and so does her son.

There is a sharp pain in her stomach. But she ignores it. She has to be strong. For her husband. And for her son. If they are to get through this, it will have to be together. The horns begin to sound, and she looks around, and then up. To the cliffs that surround them.

 _Oh no._

She knows before Ragnar speaks a word. They are going to lift the boats. There's another pain in her stomach—it hurts worse than the last one.

She ignores it. Tears are wasted on the dead.

.

 **Ragnar**

He is swatting at imaginary bugs, shivering, but not cold. What is this sickness that is taking over his body? He cannot take any more medicine. He needs what is left of it for battle. His mind jumps between Rollo, and Lagertha, knowing that somewhere during the journey of his life, he has failed them both.

Bjorn comes to sit next to him, but before they can exchange words, a scream tears through the camp.

They rise quickly as Torvi rushes toward them urging them come quickly. Ragnar's heart is racing as he and his son take off at a run.

It has rained and the tents are soaked. Father and son enter cautiously, and Ragnar is devastated.

Lagertha is on the ground, her hair and clothes soaked with sweat, her eyes red and swollen. The blankets around her are bloody.

"I lost my child," she says without emotion. She is in shock.

"I knew I could never have another child. The seer told me a long time ago. But I was hoping I could beat the fates."

Ragnar sits beside her wrapping her in his arms as she begins to sob into his chest. Her tears are too much for him. It is as if they are pulled from his own heart. He kisses her head and rocks her gently as Bjorn holds her hand.

After a moment, she regains herself. "Go away," she commands pushing them back. "Leave me alone."

Father and son look at each other a moment. But they do not leave. They give her space, but not too much, staying by her side like guards to a queen.

He waits until her breathing slows down, and moves back in to wrap her up into his arms again. She doesn't resist, laying her head in his chest. Ragnar gently strokes her hair, rocking them slowly, as she falls asleep.

"I'm sorry," he whispers in her ear. "I am so very, very sorry."

 **.**

 **Bjorn**

It hurts to see his mother's pain. And the agony across his father's face is just as worse. There is death all around them, and he wonders whether Ragnar has been cursed, and if they are cursed to follow him. All of this, from the beginning, has been Ragnar's fault.

The hour is late, and the camp has gone quiet. It is just the three of them inside his mother's tent. And Bjorn will not leave her. And he can tell that Ragnar is not going anywhere either.

Ragnar has taken his mother into his arms, and she rests there asleep, at long last. Bjorn is lying at her feet, his eyes closed.

"I'm sorry..." he hears his father say quietly. And it angers him. "Sorry" is not good enough. It seems when it comes to his mother, all Ragnar can do is say "sorry".

"Why do you do this to our family, father?" He asks.

Ragnar opens his eyes, staying still to not disturb Lagertha. He strokes her hair gently, but he does not answer. Bjorn shakes his head angrily.

"You have claimed that you love Lagertha, but the only person you have ever loved is yourself. It has always been about what _you_ want. Not what _I_ want. Not what Lagertha _wanted_. YOU," Bjorn's voice is rising and catching himself, he lowers it, ignoring the warning glare from Ragnar.

"You are a selfish bastard and for the first time, I am _ashamed_ to call you my father."

"I loved your mother!" Ragnar yells. "I have always loved your mother and I have spent my life ensuring that she has been protected! Who are you to judge me? Everything I have done, I do for you and her!"

"Bullshit. You do it for yourself! Mother was right. We were happy where we were. Back on our farm. We were a family then. And it was you who ruined it all. Everything you touch is in ruin. Look around you, Ragnar! All of this is your doing. You have _failed_ us!"

There it is. The truth. His truth. Bjorn is angry. Angry at Ragnar for leaving them to suffer. Angry for Ragnar for making her feel she had no choice but to leave him and suffer and struggle alone.

"I was selfish," Ragnar says.

Bjorn turns away in disgust.

"I have made mistakes," Ragnar says wearily, looking down at Lagertha. "So many, many mistakes that I did not know were such at the time. I have been a terrible husband," he says. "And a terrible father."

Bjorn is silent. Paris. He is starting to think Paris has cursed them.

He turns around and lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling, as his father mutters words to Lagertha only she can hear. He already knows what they are. Promises that Ragnar has already broken. Confessions that she already knows. Sorrows. Griefs. He hears only parts, as Ragnar speaks the name Gyda, his dead sister.

They are all broken people. He, Ragnar, and Lagertha. But they are his family. And all they have is each other.

"I regret, every day, that love has never been enough," Ragnar says.

Bjorn is not sure whether those words are meant for him, his mother or both of them. But his anger has died down. Now he just feels sorry for the old man.

 **.**

 **.**

Later, when the boats are in the water, he goes to Ragnar's tent, and sees his father on his knees, slapping at imaginary bugs. Bjorn is aware that this will be their last battlefield. He pulls Ragnar upand helps him put on his armor. They walk out to see Lagertha waiting outside.

They are family. And as a family they will rise or fall together. This is the last battlefield.

.

 **Alsaug**

The rain beats down on her body, each drop landing like a blow. She cannot believe Harbard, her great love, has come and gone again. She cannot believe that he has lain with other women. She feels betrayed. Damaged. She grieves for lost love. She cries. She screams. Kattegat's queen, lying prostrate in the mud. She no longer cares about this life. It is just a matter of time.

 **.**

 **Ragnar**

Death. And loss. All around. Above him, below him. His beloved Lagertha, wounded and sick. The tides have changed. And it is now he and Bjorn that take turns nursing his injured wife on the long journey home. Should she die, it will be his fault. And his son will never forgive him.

Have the gods not make her suffer enough? And as for the gods…he curses them all. He doubts, he questions. Defeat has brought about all the demons he's fought to keep at bay, and now, here they are. And there is no more medicine.

There will be no victory feast, for he, the great King Ragnar, is great no more. He is tired of ruling. Tired of being King. He wants to be rid of it all.

But first…he must purge his mind and his body of the poison Yidu has fed him.

He leans down one more time to kiss Lagertha's lips, savoring the salty taste of the ocean on them. And when the boats dock, he slips away.

 **.**

 **Lagertha**

She awakes in her own bed. In Hedeby. Her last memory had been of the battlefield in Paris. She sits up, a pain shooting in her shoulder and she moans.

At the sound of her voice, Bjorn appears.

"Mother," he says sitting on the foot of her bed. "I am pleased you are awake."

She smiles faintly and wraps her hand around his.

"It seems the gods have spared me," she says. Her voice is rough and her throat is dry.

Bjorn leaves and comes back with a cup of water.

"How long have I been ill?" She asks.

"It has been about a month," he says.

"And what has happened in that time?"

Even now, she can read her son's face. And she knows something is wrong.

"Is it Kattegat? The children—your brothers?" She asks, alarmed.

He shakes his head.

"No, he says. Kattegat is fine. The sons of Ragnar are fine. Aslaug is in charge, but—"

"But what?"

"No one has seen Ragnar since our return. He has gone."

Gone.

Ragnar is gone.

She doesn't understand.

"Is he dead?" She feels if he were, she would have known. Would have felt something."

Bjorn shakes his head.

"I do not think so. Back in Paris, he said he was…tired. I think he has just walked away."

She closes her eyes, and drifts off to sleep.

.

.

 ***Author's Note:** _There's only one more chapter left. Please adjust your filters as the last chapter will carry an "M" rating. Coming soon: "Many Waters", a look at how one mistake changed the course of Ragnar and Lagertha's lives._


	10. When Goodbye Comes

**When Goodbye Comes**

 **Ragnar**

He watches the compound from the hill at a distance. The women are training, and to his wise eyes, he can see his wife is preparing an army. Lagertha is preparing for war. He knows her well. And he also knows that with no man, and an earldom of her own, this is her moment, and she deserves it.

.

 **Lagertha**

She is studying his face, as they sit across from each other by the fire.

He is older, with dark circles under his eyes. Fine lines have appeared on his head, his tattoos now faded, against his skin. His clothes are worn and tattered. His beard is more gray than brown. He looks so tired. It makes her heart ache.

Their conversation is quiet. He speaks few words, and she answers them with even less. There have been failures, ones he acknowledges, and she confirms. It is strange, this place they are in. She is an earl, powerful and growing more so by the day. He is a fallen king.

"Where have you been?" She is curious.

Nowhere. And everywhere, he says. In a place called a desert, where there is no water. She cannot imagine such a place. Lagertha pours him more water, and he accepts. They sit in companionable silence.

"I regret what happened between us," he says. "I have made many bad choices," he gestures with his hands.

"We all approved of your ideas," she says. "But they didn't work. Ragnar Lothbrok did not succeed."

He smiles, a sad smile.

"I should go to bed now, I am tired," he says, blowing out the fire on a stick.

"It has been a long journey."

"Not in the body," he taps his head. "In the mind."

"All of our journeys are in the mind."

"In my mind, I wish we'd never left our farm. Forgive me all of my faults, my failings." He smiles ruefully, and stands up. A slight grimace crosses his face as he moves toward her. She rises, as he comes close. She breathes him in, staring into his eyes. She has always been able to read them, so emotive—every thought, feeling. He could be as still as the trees, and yet his eyes will tell her everything, as they do now. She feels her heart beat faster, as he leans in. She holds her breath as she feels his cross her cheek, his beard brushing against the side of her face, making her skin tingle. The gentle kiss he lays on her cheek is almost enough to break her.

"No regrets," he says and turns away, but she catches him, and guides his lips back to hers.

"And yet, every regret," her voice cracks, and she kisses him softly, deeply.

She lets him go with tears in her eyes, but they do not fall. He leaves to sleep in the tiny house nearby.

Later, as her lover sleeps beside her, Lagertha is restless. She cannot sleep. When she closes her eyes, she sees the goddess, Freya on her chariot, calling her to come. She leaves Astrid in the bed, and slips outside the home. Her feet carrying her to the small guest house paces away.

 **.**

 **.**

It has been a long time since he has laid on a proper bed. He struggles to get to sleep, but it eludes him. Finally after a long while, he moves to the floor.

He did know whether he would be accepted in her home. He has relied on the kindness from strangers and the past 10 years have been a studied practice in humility. There have been moments of desperation, where he has been so weak he thought he would not live. And each time, someone has saved him.

Ragnar has tested his will against the wilds, using his wits to outsmart predators who viewed him as prey. He has been alone, and he has been lonely. Now is time to come back, to finish his journey where it began. He must make amends for his transgressions, to try and right the wrongs he has brought to those he loves.

His ex-wife has shown him charity. He is grateful.

Ragnar tosses, and turns but he still cannot get comfortable. He rests on his back, staring up at the ceiling, noting the intricate weaving of the sticks that form the walls, remembering a time when he had built a home for his family on the beach with his own hands, taking breaks only to carry her off into the trees and make love, before starting to work again. He misses that farm. He would give everything back to have that life again.

And by the gods (God?), how has she managed to stay so perfect?

He thinks the first knocking sound is in his mind. But the second one he doesn't miss. It is very late. Morning will be coming soon.

When he opens the door she is standing there in a thin nightgown. The moonlight casts off her hair making her glow. It is cold, and he can see her breasts through the thin fabric she wears. He starts to say something but she stops him, stepping inside, and putting a finger on his lips, "shhh…" before replacing it with her own.

He kisses her back, first unsure. She does not pull away, and the kiss deepens as he presses her against him feeling her—so soft and firm at the same time.

Desire is something that has not stirred in him in a long time. But it does now, and he can feel himself growing harder, his pants suddenly too tight. Her hands move down to assist him as she keeps his lips on his. Hurriedly, he removes the layers of shirts until he stands before her, baring both his body, and his soul.

She pulls back, and slowly unties her gown, letting it fall from her shoulders to the floor.

They pause, studying each other.

She sees Ragnar, his body still as strong as it has ever been, muscles carved from a lifetime of battles and labor, the skin marked by deep wounds healed long ago that serve as reminders of battles won and lost. She traces the circular scar above his left eye with her fingers, while her other hand caresses his chest, touching each raised wound. She lets her hand drift down and further still until she reaches his manhood, stroking with him, teasing him, touching him. It jumps at her touch, the skin like that of a snake, twitching and tensing. The fingers dip below fondling, the skin here more smooth and soft, and heavy. She pulls him closer to her as she watches his face. His eyes are closed, his head back as a deep moans escapes his lips. This is different now. He has always been so dominant, but it is now her who controls his pleasure, and she will not release him. It's like he is seeing again, for the first time. The pounding of his own heart, echoes in his ears. Each time she touches him sends shocks through his body. He is helpless, and surrenders himself to her.

She has pushed him backward and he lands on the bed staying still, losing himself in all the things she is doing to his body right now. He cannot control his reactions, nor does he want to. She hovers over him her lips on his neck, his chest, his stomach. He is hers now and he imagines this is what it is like to lay with the goddess Freyja herself. He cries out as she lowers herself onto him, and like reflex he reaches to grab her ass, pulling her down as he pushes his hips up, sinking his hardness inside her.

"I want to ride you," Lagertha whispers in his year, her breasts grazing his chest. "Like a boar." She's said these words before, but they have so much more meaning now.

He has always been her boar, like Freyja's Hildisvini, her lover in disguise. He sees it all now, everything that has been in a new light. She is baptizing him in her body, purifying his soul with her love. His passion flares anew, and he sits up, keeping her on his lap as he bends her backward to bite her neck and let his tongue lap gently at her breasts catching her nipples between his teeth before soothing them with his lips.

She begs for him and he surges to her with determination and desire. He lifts her turning them around, so that he can lay her on her back. It is his turn now and he is not gentle.

He takes her hard, slowly, painfully, each thrust eliciting cries from them both. She digs her nails down his back, grabbing his butt, urging him deeper inside and he gives her all he has, all he is.

Friend, lover, father, mother, enemy… they fuck. The bed groans and they lose themselves in each other, riding each other until they can't climb any further. She is crying now her arms around his neck, his mouth on hers tasting, desperate and unwilling to let go.

They fuck. Until she is screaming his name in orgasm and he bites down hard on her neck, her skin stifling his groan as his seed spills into her body, carrying with it his heart and soul. He wants to mark her, give her something she will not soon forget. A parting gift, and a promise, one he swears will not be broken this time.

She has learned from him grown with him, and she carries his legacy in their son, and in her will to survive. He knows she will take over Kattegat, and he whispers his blessing as they come down from the clouds. He tells her that he will soon die—in his own way. Of his own devising. He tells her to look out for him, she will know when it happens. He will visit her again on his way to the golden gates. Her tears fall on his face, and they are like salve to open wounds, stitching him back together, giving him new strength to complete his journey.

She gave him her heart thirty years ago, and now she has given him so much more.

Absolution.

.

.

A/N: Thanks folks. Stay tuned for "Many Waters" a companion, of-sorts, to this.

Also, check out outer works posted over at the Vikings Forum on AO3.


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